It takes a while to track him down; Camelot is not a small place, even just the castle. Finally Summer finds him in the armory, putting away his weapons after practise. “Mordred.” There’s only one door, so she stands in it, trying to look a little intimidating. It’s hard to be angry at him, though; her voice comes out more worried. “Mordred. What are you hiding from me?”

sirmordred-thedruid:

iamthefirechild:

xregicide-deactivated20140812:

      Mordred stopped, placing his vambrace down on the bench, his heart sinking. For a moment he concentrates completely on his armour, how could he answer such a question? Telling her would mean her life and the lives of those whom called Camelot home. An impossible predicament.   

     The young knight turns to face her, his fingers brushing lightly against the metal of his armour. “I’m not hiding anything” he tells her simply.

They had meant to rape her. She remembers that, now. She’s eaten so little in the past few days there’s nothing in her stomach to come up. Mordred had been stopping them, sword drawn. He’s not garbed in knightly splendour now, but in dark layers that somehow suit him better than the shining silver and red of Camelot. Burying her hands in her hair to hold it away from her face, she gags again, and looks up at Mordred. The rush of blood makes her dizzy and cold. “Why are you here? You left … I left. I’ve been lost.” Her eyes fall on the pile of ashes again. There should be blood on her hands. “Just … leave me here to die.”

        He wanted to reach forward but then he remembered the warning. Would it even matter now that he was away from Camelot? “I went back to the way I was,” he tells her simply. “I couldn’t stay and abandoned my post and broke my vow,” Mordred says, glancing away, self hatred welling up in him. “I refuse to leave you to die. Not now, not ever.”  

“I’m a murderer.”

Summer should care that he fled Camelot; should be grateful he found her — or she found him; should reach to ease his self-loathing. It’s what she is.

Except what she is is lost under pain and self-hatred of her own. “This,” she gestures limply around the bandit camp, “is what I deserve. Leave me here. Go back.”

wearitcounts:

cumberbuddy:

debtepe:

My first Tumblr post!  A frolicsome pic of the amazing Benedict Cumberbatch enjoying some leisure time, that I hadn’t run across anywhere before.

With Fall here, a lovely reminder of summer type fun.  And BC. makes it all look that much better.

Photograph by Tertius Bune Photography

Love the ‘Westside’ hand sign under his leg!

oh good there is a source now

once again

look. at. this.

It takes a while to track him down; Camelot is not a small place, even just the castle. Finally Summer finds him in the armory, putting away his weapons after practise. “Mordred.” There’s only one door, so she stands in it, trying to look a little intimidating. It’s hard to be angry at him, though; her voice comes out more worried. “Mordred. What are you hiding from me?”

sirmordred-thedruid:

iamthefirechild:

xregicide-deactivated20140812:

      Mordred stopped, placing his vambrace down on the bench, his heart sinking. For a moment he concentrates completely on his armour, how could he answer such a question? Telling her would mean her life and the lives of those whom called Camelot home. An impossible predicament.   

     The young knight turns to face her, his fingers brushing lightly against the metal of his armour. “I’m not hiding anything” he tells her simply.

She looks down to the way he is still gripping her wrist, and swallows hard. It’s been a while since she killed using her powers, and the thunder in her mind tells her she had been wide open to the death. Abruptly she goes to her knees, retching.

        He releases his hold, taking a step back and he looks around. “All of you, disappear, now,” Mordred orders and the men disappear, leaving the two of them alone. He crouches down. “Summer, breathe, calm down.”

They had meant to rape her. She remembers that, now. She’s eaten so little in the past few days there’s nothing in her stomach to come up. Mordred had been stopping them, sword drawn. He’s not garbed in knightly splendour now, but in dark layers that somehow suit him better than the shining silver and red of Camelot. Burying her hands in her hair to hold it away from her face, she gags again, and looks up at Mordred. The rush of blood makes her dizzy and cold. “Why are you here? You left … I left. I’ve been lost.” Her eyes fall on the pile of ashes again. There should be blood on her hands. “Just … leave me here to die.”

sirmordred-thedruid:

iamthefirechild:

Read More

        He hums, pulling the blankets up over the two of them and he wraps his arms around her waist, burying his face in the crook of her neck. “Don’t thank me.”

“Why not?” Her voice is drowsy, cuddling into his hold. She makes a face when she remembers she’s half-in and half-out of her dress, and struggles upright to finish taking it off. Naked, she settles back down and nestles back into Mordred’s arms. “It was very nice. I hope,” a yawn, “I will get better with time.”

It takes a while to track him down; Camelot is not a small place, even just the castle. Finally Summer finds him in the armory, putting away his weapons after practise. “Mordred.” There’s only one door, so she stands in it, trying to look a little intimidating. It’s hard to be angry at him, though; her voice comes out more worried. “Mordred. What are you hiding from me?”

sirmordred-thedruid:

iamthefirechild:

xregicide-deactivated20140812:

      Mordred stopped, placing his vambrace down on the bench, his heart sinking. For a moment he concentrates completely on his armour, how could he answer such a question? Telling her would mean her life and the lives of those whom called Camelot home. An impossible predicament.   

     The young knight turns to face her, his fingers brushing lightly against the metal of his armour. “I’m not hiding anything” he tells her simply.

Summer turns wide, blank eyes on Mordred. “They burn. You … do not. Why do you not burn?” The flame in her hands flickers, then dies, along with the color of her eyes. “Mordred?” Her tone is almost childish, bewildered. She looks around, and tenses when she sees the heap of ashes, and the bandit leader.

“What did I do?”

        Mordred glances back to where Ragnor’s second had once stood, now replaced by nothing more than a pile of ashes. “You killed him,” he says simply, as if the fact is nothing. ‘You need to get out of here, it isn’t safe.’ Mordred didn’t know whether or not she possessed telepathy, but it was worth a shot.

She looks down to the way he is still gripping her wrist, and swallows hard. It’s been a while since she killed using her powers, and the thunder in her mind tells her she had been wide open to the death. Abruptly she goes to her knees, retching.

It takes a while to track him down; Camelot is not a small place, even just the castle. Finally Summer finds him in the armory, putting away his weapons after practise. “Mordred.” There’s only one door, so she stands in it, trying to look a little intimidating. It’s hard to be angry at him, though; her voice comes out more worried. “Mordred. What are you hiding from me?”

sirmordred-thedruid:

iamthefirechild:

xregicide-deactivated20140812:

      Mordred stopped, placing his vambrace down on the bench, his heart sinking. For a moment he concentrates completely on his armour, how could he answer such a question? Telling her would mean her life and the lives of those whom called Camelot home. An impossible predicament.   

     The young knight turns to face her, his fingers brushing lightly against the metal of his armour. “I’m not hiding anything” he tells her simply.

She struggles to her feet, hands held wide, eyes still fixed on Ragnor. Fire dances in the palms of each hand, irises brilliant gold. She shows no awareness of Mordred at all, in fact. One step toward Ragnor, and another, and she breathes, “You burn.”

The druid shoots upright, lunging forward, grabbing her wrist. “Summer, stop it,” he tells her, his tone firm as he gets in front of her. “Summer, listen to me, please. He isn’t worth it, it’s not worth a life.”

Summer turns wide, blank eyes on Mordred. “They burn. You … do not. Why do you not burn?” The flame in her hands flickers, then dies, along with the color of her eyes. “Mordred?” Her tone is almost childish, bewildered. She looks around, and tenses when she sees the heap of ashes, the bandit leader.

“What did I do?”

I Must Confess in Threes

Blab: Three secrets I’m keeping.
Mwah: Three people I’d like to kiss.
Similar: Three members of the same sex I find attractive.
Different: Three members of the opposite sex I find attractive
Pastime: Three hobbies I have that I would be embarrassed to know someone discovered.
Doing: Three habits that I have.
Psst: Three things that I’ve always wanted to tell you.
Shh: Three things I wouldn’t wan’t my parents to know
Dream: Three wishes I have.
Want: Three things I would do to you if we were alone.